sad eyes
by TheWrongTeaTin
Summary: The Doctor and Clara's father have gone missing. Clara turns to Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, to help her solve the dilemma. My first story! Creative criticism welcome! REALLY REVISED EDITION
1. Chapter 1

Sad eyes

A soufflock fan fiction

Chapter I

Scene: Setting post-Season 7 Christmas Special of dw and A Scandal In Bulgaria of Sherlock.

Clara awoke to the bang again. She sat up, and breathed a gulp of cold dusty apartment air, holding it and listening. After a moment she let it out and lay back down defeated. This had happened every morning at exactly six o'clock for the past two weeks.

On a normal day she would go back to sleep for about an hour, get up, and go to work. Today was Saturday. 'A good, exiting day.' The doctor had told her. So she sighed and slowly rolled herself out bed.

For one month she had been living in a drafty, dusty, creaky, thin walled apartment, with no sense of style, cleanliness, privacy or cheerful disposition.

The doctor just had to go and meet Clara's dad. All his life her father had wanted to build a rocket. Not the little baking soda and vinegar ones, an actual proper rocket with flames and fancy flares. The fact that his daughter's new "colleague from work" knew how to build one was too much to handle: they had taken over the apartment. They had even taken her bike. It had gotten to the point where she could not fit her things, or herself, so she moved out temporarily. (Her gran was on a vacation in bath, and wasn't back till the end of the next month.) The doctor claimed to have "sorted everything" (used fake money to rent a dump for £450 in the backstreets of London.) no denying, she was grateful he made an effort, but he could have at the very least got a flat near her work. The landlady was nice though…

The worst part about the apartment was the neighbors above her. They were decidedly the most disturbing people she had ever lived with. Granted, She hadn't lived with many others than her dad and mum, but still. Nearly every other day the police would come trampling up the stairs making a racket doing who knows what and the stench from the ceiling does not deserve to be written down.

They were two men, she knew that much. Weather they were a couple, she couldn't be certain. Clara Oswald had no desire to know who, or what they were. Until this Saturday…

"Going always," she thought to herself as she groggily pulled on a giant hand knit sweater and tiptoed upstairs in thick wool socks. The smell of burnt toast was overwhelming. She plugged her nose, took a deep breath through her mouth, and knocked on the door of 221b.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

"Door's open." Came a muffled voice.

Clara gently turned the handle and stepped carefully inside.

"What do you want" an exasperated call came from the sitting room.

She peered around the flat. There was a short dark hallway that led to the parlor and kitchen. The parlor was filled to the brim with books and cardboard boxes. A bright yellow smiley face with bullet holes for eyes smiled down at her. Across from that was the kitchen, well; you couldn't even call it a kitchen. It was stuffed with all sorts of vile jars of what seemed to be ligament and body parts…humans? Three different microscopes faced the wall and you couldn't see the color of the wood there was so much paper. The whole room stank from top to bottom

_"So that's where the smell comes from…" _she thought to herself.

"Boredom." She whipped around to find a man in his late thirties with a mop of black curls and extremely long legs. He sat hunched, so still you almost missed him. The black leather chair swallowed his thin figure, his fingertips pressed in a small triangle under his nose.

"Excuse me?"

"You were wondering what the bang was. Boredom."

"Okay…sorry, let me get this straight. You shoot the wall at six o-clock in the morning, every morning, because you're bored?…no wait, _boredom_, you're waiting for something, something that usually comes frequently, something you love passionately,"

She started circling him intensely. A burst of adrenalin coursed through her body, reaching parts of her brain she had never used before.

"Something you don't do for money, judging by your living space, you do it for the excitement, something dangerous, a spy? No, you're clever, a detective, the police must use you an awful lot; from their daily raids you must be a… consulting detective, that's rare! You have a brother, one of very high status, you don't like him but he is one of your only friend-" he stood, their noses inches apart

"Your mother died about seven years ago, you don't have any siblings but you look after children, a nanny, but you have a different occupation, dangerous, scary, risky, but you love it, you're not in charge though, you have a friend" he now circled her.

"You've always longed for adventure, you protect something, some_one_, forever saving-'' he stopped. The reason why; Clara had gone white, so white he swore he could have mistaken her face for a mask (it was actually very pretty, he noticed)

She fled the apartment, trying not to slam the door on her way out.

She skidded to a halt and almost fell down the stairs when she collided into a short grey haired man in his early forties.

"Holy socks! Careful there!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" she apologized frantically, brushing him off.

"Are you alright? You're white as a sheet! -"

"Yes, yes I'm fine, I'll just…go." She forced herself to walk down the stairs slowly, desperate to get back to her room.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

"HUDSON!" Sherlock shouted.

Stumbling footsteps came up the stairwell.

"Yes dear?" Mrs. Hudson panted, as she opened the door.

"Who was that?"

"Sorry, who's who?" she absently mindedly fluffing a pillow.

"That girl."

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I have no idea which girl you're talking about."

"Open your eyes, woman, the girl who just fell down the stairs

"Miss Clara?"

"Clara? Clara who?"

"Clara Oswald. She's living downstairs. Her friend put her up. He seemed a little suspicious to me but Clara is a very sweet young woman with a very acute sense of detail, much like yourself."

"Was that a client?" John Watson stumbled into the room looking frazzled

"Clara Oswald. Lives downstairs" Sherlock said before Miss Hudson could reply"

"Really?" said John

"Yeah." He said simply, stumbling to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Clara sat on the bed holding her phone.

The epiphany had nearly scared her out of her wits. She had always been quite clever, but never to the point where she could read someone's entire past and present in a couple minutes.

She finally gave in and called the contact marked 'doctor'.

No answer.

"Please leave a message after the tone" went the annoying voice.

"Hi, doctor, its me… theresamadgeniouswholivesupstairsandshootsthewallatsixinthemornincuzhedoesnthaveacaseandhesomehowknowseverythingaboutyounottomentionmeandsomehowifoundouteverythingabouthimbylookingathimitsreallyfreakinmeoutpleasecallback." She waited for two long silent seconds then hung up.

After about a half an hour of laying on her back and staring at the ceiling trying to calm her, she decided she needed to talk to someone so she heaved a sigh and got up.

She thought as she sat at the rainy bus stop waiting for the eight o'clock bus. That man, the detective, he was one of the most annoying men she had ever had to confront. He was so annoying that she decided to make list. Literally. She titled the note:

_the annoying man who lives above me. _

He is way to rude for his own good

2\. He uses three nicotine patches at once

3\. No one needs four microscopes.

4\. He is so messy I don't think I would've lived another minute in that room

5\. He's much too tall…

She was so caught up in finding cons about the man she almost missed the bus.

"Hello?" she called when no one answered her knock.

The flat was empty.

Everything was as it was before her dad and the doctor had come.

No mess, just furniture. Even the food in the cupboard was the same.

Except for the men. She searched every inch of the flat, calling their names till she was hoarse.

_"No note"_ she thought.

_Dad always leaves a note_. She stepped out to the tiny backyard to see if the tardis was still there. Nothing.

She was really getting scared now. She tried calling both their cell phones. Still nothing. She even called Angie - Clara still did the odd bit of nannying here and there - to see if she had seen the doctor. She said she hadn't.

"Okay" she whispered to herself.

"Get yourself together, Clara. What would the doctor do? He would go sit in a corner and think. Okay, I'll go-" she would've finished her sentence with "back to the flat" but something stopped her dead in her tracks.

_"Clara Oswald"_ a dark, whispery voice filled her brain. It was like standing next to a booming speaker on max except it was coming from_ inside_. She fell to her knees and clutched her head.

"_Clara Oswald."_ This time it was so loud it left a then it stopped. The silence engulfed the flat like a fog.

"I'm going insane." She ran so fast she didn't bother grabbing her bike or waiting for the bus, cursing her apartment for having so many stairs.

She arrived back at her flat an hour later, sopping wet, seeing as she didn't use any form of transportation (other than her wellies). After shaking out her coat and putting on some dry clothes, she flopped on her bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking.

As she thought, she got sadder and lonelier.

A quiet tear rolled down her cheek. Then another. Before she knew it, she was sobbing her heart out in a tiny ball on the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Sherlock had opened the door to a very red eyed, sagging Clara Oswald with blue lips, a pink nose, and very wet hair. He poured her a cup of tea without thinking. He now sat in a chair opposite the girl, staring her down. The word_ impossible_ kept popping up. Over and over. He flicked his head as if that would shake them out of his brain. She had told him everything. Even about the voice, reluctantly of course but she saw he wanted the whole story.

"_impossible_

_impossible_

_impossible_

_impossible"_

He grunted and stood up, now facing the fireplace. He bent down and looked at the grate, saw the usual deduction, then stood up and faced her again.

"_impossible_

_impossible_

_impossible_

_impossible"_

It was just like Irene, only this girl was "impossible" he couldn't even concentrate on thinking where her dad and friend could be

"Stand up." Clara stood, slightly confused.

He walked around her once.

"_Impossible" _he almost screamed in frustration.

John stepped up behind him and tapped him lightly on his shoulder

"Shh, john I'm working."

"Right sorry."

"No. Wait. Come here. Look at her and tell me what you see"

"I am still here." She shivered.

"Well…I see a girl who looks like she is going to catch a severe cold." Clara smiled at him thankfully.

"Sherlock sighed and tossed her a blanket.

"Thank you" she whispered.

Sherlock began to pace. Then without warning he turned suddenly on his heel and huffed to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Clara's stomach rumbled and she realized she hadn't had any food since the day before.

"I think I'll just go. It seems like I'm causing nothing but frustration and bad feelings. Here's your blanket. Thank you for the tea."

But before she could leave, a knock interrupted her.

John went to open the door and Clara followed peeking over his shoulder.

"Mycroft, Come in."

A tiny "oh" slipped Clara's mouth as she realized who he was.

_"__Failing a diet plan, loves brother dearly, just came from a meeting at the coffee shop on 3__rd__ and Folsom Street, hates peaches, gets "head aches", doesn't sleep to much, reads the newspaper every morning, carries cane for style." _ She gasped silently and her knees buckled as she tried to supress the flood of words.

_"_SHERLOCK" Mycroft yelled.

"I don't think he's in the mood to talk to anyone quite yet." John said.

"God, it can't be that bad, can it?" Mycroft stood in front of his brother's door, staring at it blankly.

"Coming" a muffled voice grumbled.

"So what's the case? "Mycroft flopped into Sherlock's armchair and hung his cane on the edge.

"Well…actually…" John slowed and looked her expectantly.

And then she told him everything, all the while, trying to slow the agonizing word flow .

When she was done she looked up from the floor to find Sherlock staring at her from the doorway of his bedroom. Such strange, sad eyes. It almost hurt to look at him, but she couldn't tear away.

"I can understand why you haven't seen the police." After long slightly awkward pause, Clara decided she'd had enough.

"actually, i have some stuff to do. thank you for your help...yeah."

Sherlock stared her down the whole way out."


	5. Chapter 5

**Heyo! sorry that took so long...not. mwah ha ha ha *breaks into terrifyingly evil laughter* my wifi was out for a week and guess what i've been doing? no really. guess. THATS RIGHT! i've been WRITING. Yah...anyways...i'd just like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WANTING THE NEXT CHAPTER! ALL THOSE COMMENTS MADE MY WEEK! Oh,and there's one more chapter, I wont be a Moffat. THANK YOU AGAIN! and again. and again. sorry. I'll let you read now...hope you enjoy...*tries to hide menacing grin on face...  
**

Chapter V

"_That strange, strange man." _ Clara leaned on the door between the tiny kitchen and her bedroom holding a cup of tea and a headache pill.

She had decided to spend the rest of her afternoon trying to find out what this _thing _was.

This _thing…_she felt her knees buckle and her her vision fuzz over.

"_CLARA OSWALD"_ There it was again. The voice. The voice that scratched her skull and echoed in her mind. Her mug fell to the ground and shattered into several pieces.

"No! Please!" Her voice cracked and she felt her head hit the floor with a thump.

"help…me…" Blackness everywhere. Covering everything. Then a light so tiny it was hard to look at. But she saw it. And she ran. Running and running. Her lungs ached and her legs burned but she kept running.

Sherlock had heard the tiny plea coming from downstairs. He recognized the sweet voice and stopped what he was doing, lifting his head and standing up slowly.

He ran down the stairs, skipping steps, and threw open the door to her apartment.

She was lying on the floor face so white he swore she looked dead. He knelt down and felt for a pulse in her wrist. Very gently picking her up he suddenly saw blood pouring down her cheek and into her hair from a deep gash caused by one of the shards of a broken cup.

He carried her up the stairs, quickly but carefully, using his foot to push open the front door and sliding her off his arms into his own bed.

Clara crawled, the light so big now it was all around her. Shadows began to form. Her whole body burned with exhaustion .

"_but…this isn't…real…its all...In...My…Head..." _She woke with a start blinking the stars away from her eyes. A searing pain erupted on the side of her face and her eyes widened, own fingers speeding to her cheek. But a hand was already there, holding a handkerchief wet with some kind of disinfectant. She sat up and threw the hand off her face, only to find none other than Sherlock Holmes looking at her and pushing her back down to the pillow. None to early, for her eyes clouded with stars and her brain felt like it was going to explode.

"Why are you doing this?" Clara asked on a breath, eyes shut tight.

There was a long pause in which sherlock gingerly dabbed her cheek with a wet (no longer disinfectant but watered) cloth. He sighed then shook his head.

"I…actually to tell the truth…I don't really know…"

"I get the sense you don't like not knowing." Her voice cracked slightly and the corner of her mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

He stood up and prepared to leave.

"wait…don't go…help me up… I need to find…"

she sat up slowly and pulled the sheets away, searching the floor with her feet.

He gingerly sat down next to her on the bed and put his hand on her lap.

"who are you?"He asked, using his other hand to lift her chin so he could look her in the eye.

"Clara Oswald-"

"no. _who_ are you?" She took a pause to stare into his eyes.

Those sad, lonely eyes.

Yes, the doctors eyes were sad too. But this was a different sad. A sad only found in the eyes of the lonely. Only in the eyes of someone who was waiting for someone. Someone who wouldn't gawk and stare at his talents but would put them aside and _see._ For being _him_ not a high functioning sociopath with a brain, but Sherlock Holmes. The man behind those sad eyes.

"I could ask you the same question." She patted his hand lightly and smiled a small, understanding, quiet smile.

Then without warning, he jumped up and swept her into his arms and _smiled back._

" Lets go solve a case."

_So they did._


	6. epilogue

**oh. my. golly. goslings. Sorry that took to long there were some computer complications...anywho, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Epilogue

They found clara's dad and the doctor. Turns out he had decided to take Clara's father to an actual rocket building center in 2042 and had just cleaned up after himself. The voice ended up to be the doctor trying to transmit a telepathic message throught the TARDIS but it had there had been an 'accident'. Technically, her being the TARDIS and considering their situation, Clara didn't think it had happened on accident. The doctor had looked into the transmitter history while fixing it and he admitted Clara was correct. In fact the TARDIS had even picked the voice of Lord Voldemort from the seventh Harry Potter book to try and scare her. As for Clara's little outbursts of _smartness_, no one knew. The doctor said it was probably related to one of her past life memories most likely triggered by her surroundings in the apartment or something she had eaten.

Possibly both. When her dad had asked her if she wanted to come back to the apartment she had told him she would like to stay the rest of her time where she was. So she did. And for the two months after. And she is still staying there. But not in the below apartment. As soon as john moved into his apartment with mary, Clara moved into his old room. The doctor still comes every Wednesday -she told Sherlock everything about travelling through time and space with a madman - and sometimes they bring him along.

Yeah…

That's all.

No…wait…

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
